Masquerade
by The Dunadan
Summary: The REAL intentions of Erik, Christine, and Raoul. Their "masquerade." Special thanks to Kates for all her laughs, faithful reading, constructive criticism and suggestions made during the writing of this story. And Jonathan, for getting me over that block
1. Raoul

1Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera. Gaston Leroux does. And Andrew Lloyd Webber. And Joel Schumacher. But I'm not one of them, so I'm just a devoted phan who decided to have a bit of fun. Very well then, do read on!

Chapter 1

Raoul

Raoul walked down the steps of the Opera Populaire as quickly as he could without looking as if he wanted to get away. Every night he had had to come and watch the performances of Christine Daae, who had been creating quite a splash among opera goers. Her talents had much improved with the help of some mysterious tutor. Mysterious to all but him. He knew this ghost all too well. Erik, Opera Ghost, The Phantom of the Opera, The Angel of Music, and whatever else he was called was vying for Christine's affection. Raoul had always been jealous of Erik, of his musical genius. He could sing, which helped to win Christine's heart, but he could never be as gifted as this Ghost. He hadn't really loved Christine; she was attractive and talented, but there was nothing between them on his part. He merely wanted to take her away from Erik. Nothing would hurt his adversary more than to take away the object of his affections. Besides, Christine didn't belong with such an elderly, possessive, deformed creature such as him. The young Vicomte de Chagny had known Christine since childhood, but they had been apart for quite a long time. That evening a few days ago had been their first meeting in many years. He had made his way into her dressing room that night and reminded her of who he was, the little boy who had saved her scarf. He wasted no time in wooing her, and now he was certain he had taken her away from whatever infatuation she had had for her mysterious tutor. It hadn't been entirely pleasant though, he reflected, rubbing his ear. Listening to an opera in choice seats night after night after night hadn't really been his idea of fun. He glanced at a puddle at his feet, checking his appearance, hoping his hair hadn't been mussed by the cold winter wind. His carriage came around the corner a moment later as it began to snow. He was ever so pleased to be leaving that opera house. He was _so_ tired of speaking fancy love language to her with extra sap to make sure that she was convinced. If he had to listen to that spineless ninny speak to him one more time--

"Raoul!"

_Oh no..._

Raoul held in a cry and plastered a smile on his face as he turned to face the chorus girl, who was running down the steps as quickly as she could.

"Christine, darling, you'll catch your death!"

She smiled and placed a hand on his cheek as she reached him.

"Then I'll die happy."

_Oh boy..._

He pulled the hood of her cape back over her head, noticing that it had fallen on her hasty descent to speak with him.

"If you died who would be there to serenade me each night?" He kissed her hand. "Or would you have the angels realize their mistake and take you back?"

She smiled. "No. No I'd much prefer to remain here on earth with you."

_Lucky me..._

Raoul brought her hands between them. "Good. For how could I go on without you?" He kissed her forehead. "Your performance was lovely tonight, my dear. And you looked absolutely radiant."

"I knew I was singing for you."

"I know that you had the entire audience under your spell."

"You looked so handsome tonight, love, in your new suit. I meant to tell you that earlier."

_I know..._

"You are too kind my dear. Now, tell me when we may meet again, for I must know how many hours to countdown."

"Tomorrow afternoon?"

"Perfect. I shall pick you up in my carriage for a picnic luncheon around, say, noon? That is when the afternoon starts, my love, and I want to start my day with you as early as possible."

"Noon it is then, and not a moment later."

_Too bad..._

"Of course not. Now, my dear, I am afraid that we must part for awhile, for my carriage is waiting and you will freeze if you stay out here longer."

"Not with you."

Raoul clasped his hands around her thin waist and kissed her red lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He released her gently, a few moments later than he had intended to. He took her hands in his again and kissed them. "Good night, my darling. Until tomorrow."

"Good night Raoul. I love you."

"And I love you dearest."

He looked at her a moment longer, then stepped into his carriage. Christine then drew her cloak about her tightly, waved, and hurried back into the warm opera house.

Raoul sighed as the driver started the carriage, relieved to finally be on his way home. He smirked; his acting really was wonderful, he could fool anyone into thinking he was head-over-heels for Christine Daae. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, this game of his, and Christine was convinced. Not that she was hard to fool. His plans were going flawlessly.


	2. Christine

1Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera any more than I did last chapter.

Chapter 2

Christine

Christine hurried back into the opera house. She really was the greatest actress ever, to fool the young Vicomte so well. He was so easily mislead. It wasn't the most pleasant job in the world, the fop was obviously too self-absorbed to care about anyone but himself, but it did have it's perks. Her job was complicated, but going _so_ well. With Raoul's affections, she would be able to afford to go wherever she wanted with her talents, not to mention going in style. With Erik's love, she would be taught everything the gifted ghost had to teach her and could go anywhere, after taking Carlotta's place of course. She walked into her dressing room and hung her cloak on it's hook.

"_Christine..._"

She smiled. "Yes, Angel of Music?"

The masked face appeared to her in her mirror. "You outdid yourself tonight, my dear. I think you're ready to sing in Carlotta's place tomorrow evening."

She clasped her hands together. "Really? Oh Erik!"

Erik took her by the waist and smiled down at his pupil. "Of course. You've worked hard, and your skills _have _improved. You still need training, Christine, but you are well on your way."

She sighed happily and looked up into the eyes behind the mask.

"I will leave you now, my dear. You must rest, so that you will be ready for our lesson tomorrow morning. I will meet you here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

"Alright."

He kissed her gently, then released her and disappeared in the secretive way that he always did.

_That went well..._

Erik came to her dressing promptly at nine o'clock the next morning to begin her lessons. He began with a song from his opera _Don Juan_, called _" Noble Knight."_

"Once more Christine," Erik said gently, after hearing her sing it through having corrected the mistakes he had brought to her attention.

"_The noble knight_

_comes to my aid_

_putting up a fight–"_

"_No!!!_" Erik slammed the keys of the grand piano. "Did we not just go over that phrase? That is a C, Christine, a C natural!! Not a C sharp, like you persist on hitting no matter how much we go over this, a C _natural_! Do you understand? Again, and this time, sing it correctly!"

Christine gulped and meekly started again with the piano, this time, hitting the right note.

"There." Erik sat back and sighed. "Well done, my child. That's all for today, you are dismissed. I will meet you back here at six o'clock to rehearse a few things before your performance tonight. Good day."

"Good day, Angel." She responded quietly before he disappeared. The Ghost did have quite a temper, she reminded herself bitterly as she went to her room to don her cloak.

Raoul was waiting for her in front of the opera house. He smiled at her as she skipped down the steps.

"Christine, my darling."

_Raoul, the fop..._

Hiding her thoughts, she smacked a dazzling smile on her face, easily fooling the young Vicomte.

"Oh Raoul!" she fell into his arms.

"Are you ready for our grand afternoon together, my dear? Away from this opera house from which you never seem to leave?"

"More than ready Raoul." She forced up some tears.

"Christine, my darling, is everything alright? What has happened?" Raoul's brow creased with concern and he held her arms, looking into her eyes.

_Do I _look_ alright? And what was your first indication that something was amiss? The tears which are pouring down my face?_

"Oh Raoul!" she sobbed. "My...tutor..."

"Yes?"

"Oh Raoul, I've worked so hard, and he persists in yelling at me when I make mistakes, simple little mistakes!"

"Oh my darling," Raoul held her in his arms, "You poor dear. Where is the blackguard, Christine? I shall make personally sure that nothing of this sort happens again!"

"No, Raoul, don't!" She withdrew a bit and looked into his eyes, placing her hand on his chest pleadingly. "No Raoul, he'll kill you!"

"Nonsense! I'd like to see him try!"

"Raoul, please, for me. I'll be alright, and besides, look what good he's done for me, for my voice. You'll see tonight, at the opera."

"You're sure?" He handed her his handkerchief.

She nodded and accepted his offering, "Quite."

"Alright then." Raoul opened the door to his carriage. "Let us get away from here and forget this nightmare you're living in."


	3. Erik

1Disclaimer: Must we persist in this? I can give you my personal assurance that I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_, saavy? Alright, now that I have hopefully convinced you for the _third _time, let us proceed.

Chapter 3

Erik

Erik watched from the shadows as Christine alighted from the Vicomte de Chagny's carriage and kissed him goodnight. Pain surged through him, the unquenchable pain that he felt every time he knew she had been in his company. The pain of one who's love has been rejected for the hundredth, perhaps thousandth, time. He hid in the shadows as she walked past him, following her unnoticed until they were walking the dark halls together.

"You have been in the company of the young Vicomte yet again, mademoiselle." He spoke suddenly and quietly from behind her, scaring her out of her wits.

"Angel!" She gasped in surprise, placing her hand over her heart in an attempt to slow down it's beat to a normal rate.

"Angel indeed!" Erik spat out. "Yes, Christine, your angel of music who has done so much for you and is betrayed again and again by your thoughtless acts of cruelty."

"Cruelty, monsieur? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean, miss Daae, and don't pretend that you don't."

Christine could barely see him in the darkness behind her, she could merely hear the rustle of his cloak, the soft footsteps of his booted feet, and the chilling sound of his voice, but that was enough. Erik was not the sort one wanted to anger.

"If my friendship with the Vicomte de Chagny is so disturbing to you, Ghost, allow me to assure you that he is an old friend, and could never offer me what you have."

"He most certainly could not. But there are other things that he is offering to you, Christine. His youth, his riches, and last but certainly not least in your mind is his looks, his untainted looks which cast thrills into your heart each and every time you see him." Erik said bitterly. "Yes, he is more pleasing to the eye than I."

"Erik, Raoul is an old friend, from my childhood."

"Is that all?" The phantom asked dryly from the darkness behind her. "Hmph, I never knew childhood friends could become so close in their adulthood as to fool others into thinking they were in love."

"No one could ever take your place, Erik."

"Indeed they could not, but I wonder sometimes, Christine, whether or not you fully comprehend that." He opened the door to the torch-lit room in which they had rehearsed that morning and gestured for her to walk inside. She obeyed him with little hesitation and stepped inside, followed quickly by Erik, who locked the door and seated himself behind the grand piano to begin their rehearsal. "Let us see if you remember what we went over this morning, my dear. Sing _"Noble Knight"_ for me again."

The piano began to play as beautifully as it always did when Erik played it's black and white keys. He played as no one else did, or could, with such passion and intensity that it enthralled all who listened, and Christine was once again cast under the spell of his music and his voice.

She sang angelically in that night's performance, even though the music wasn't half as beautiful without Erik playing it. Erik sat in box five, listening intently to his pupil, and watching her suitor in the box across from him, who seemed to be as enthralled by her as the rest of the audience.

_Christine, my Christine. How can I survive without you? I know you sing for him, I know that I am second in your thoughts. Can't you love me? Can you ever bring yourself to love such a monster as I? _

And no one ever saw the tears that he shed that night in the darkened box behind his mask, and he revealed his pain to no one, concealing it as he always had from the outside world as carefully as he had concealed himself.

_I gave you my music..._

_made your song take wing..._

_and now, how you've repaid me:_

_denied me and betrayed me..._

_He was bound to love you_

_when he heard you sing..._

_Christine..._

_Christine..._


	4. Enemies Meet

1Disclaimer: I still don't own this. Just making sure you know that. Okay, go ahead, thanks!

Chapter 4

Enemies Meet

Meanwhile, Raoul sat in his box, never once suspecting that he was being observed by a dark specter across from him, which he was totally unaware of to begin with. Erik had mastered the art of invisibility. Raoul sat back in his seat, after leaning forward so far as to drive any doubt of his "love" for Christine from any spectator's thoughts. He drummed his fingers on his leg for a moment to keep himself occupied; hearing Christine sing every single night had gotten old. Not that she wasn't talented, but her rather high-pitched voice reverberating throughout the opera house had gotten to be a bit painful at times. He never allowed his face to betray his thoughts, however, and he endured the rest of the opera with a look of rapture and love on his face, and stood immediately to his feet, clapping enthusiastically, "bravo"-ing, and "encore"-ing with the rest of the crowd when it at last ended. He quickly made his way backstage unhindered–his relationship with Christine had gained him access to the backstage area at all times–and looked for the rising star of the Opera Populaire.

"Raoul!" A small, gloved hand waved at him above the heads of chorus men and women in their frills and feathers swarming around him.

_He'd been spotted..._

"Christine!" Raoul waved a feather out of his face and pushed through the crowd towards her.

The chorus girl fell into his arms as she reached him, breathless and radiant, "Did you hear the applause tonight, Raoul?"

"Of course I did, darling, they drowned out even the sound of my cheers. I haven't heard what they're saying in the lobby yet, but I'm sure it's wonderful."

"Oh, Raoul, would you go and see while I change?"

_Thank you!!_

"If you insist, my dear. I shall return as soon as possible."

"Thank you." She kissed him, then turned and made towards her dressing room.

Raoul pushed his way through the crowd once more and made his way out of the backstage area to the lobby, which was crowded, but considerably less cramped than backstage. He breathed deeply, grateful for the cool air wafting in from the open doors and the lack of a certain chorus girl's presence. In his relief, he nearly forgot his mission until a nearby cluster of people reminded him.

"Who is this Christine Daae? She was sensational!"

_Oh she causes a sensation alright--an annoying, nerve-snapping sensation every time I see her..._

"I'm afraid I've never heard of her before."

_Lucky you..._

"She does look familiar."

"If I may be of service," Raoul stepped next to the aristocratic woman who had just uttered these words, "Miss Christine Daae is a new star in the Opera Populaire. She has performed numerous times and has only recently been discovered as the bright jewel she is and given more prominent roles in the operas here."

"You seem to be very familiar with this opera house, sir."

"Indeed I am, madame, quite familiar."

"Your name, sir?"

"I am the Vicomte de Chagny, mesdames and messieurs, at you service."

"A pleasure, monsieur Vicomte."

"The pleasure is mine."

"Monsieur Vicomte!" Andre joined the group with a pat on the young patron's shoulder. "So pleased to see you, as always."

"Monsieur, the pleasure is mine."

_I'm full of pleasure, joy and rapture..._

"I see you've already met my friends, Monsieur."

"Indeed, I have."

"We were just discussing your new star, Andre, this Christine Daae." an elderly woman in the group addressed the manager of the Opera Populaire.

"Yes, indeed she is a very talented performer." Only Raoul could sense the discomfort in the manager, no doubt caused by Carlotta, the opera's resident prima donna, and her jealousy of Christine, put into the form of threats. "In fact, the Vicomte here is a rather close friend of Miss Daae, isn't that right Monsieur?"

"Yes, she and I are rather...attached." _Unfortunately..._

"Oh!" the elderly woman chuckled, "Do you mean to say the two of you are betrothed?"

"Very nearly, madame, very nearly."

Something caught his eye above him on the balcony: a black-cloaked figure in a mask watching him, then turning and disappearing around a corner.

The woman was speaking to him again, "Congratulations, monsieur, congratulations, she is a very lovely young woman."

"She is, thank you." He tried to hide his distraction.

"Monsieur Vicomte has attended every performance she has been in since they began their romance over six months ago." Andre beamed.

"How wonderful!" Another aristocratic woman in the group exclaimed, "enchanting!"

"Quite the Don Juan." a gentleman chuckled.

Andre cleared his throat uncomfortably at the coincidental usage of the Phantom's opera title. "Yes, I have often jested of naming an opera box after him, but of course, that may imply that the box is off limits to our other patrons, which could cost us business."

"Naturally." The elderly woman beside him replied.

The dark presence continued to haunt the mind of the young Vicomte. "I'm afraid I have something I must see to, at present." he explained, "Forgive me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintances, mesdames and messieurs, good evening."

"Good evening, monsieur Vicomte." the party bid him farewell as he walked away as quickly as he could without being impolite.

Raoul walked out onto the balcony and looked around him. There was no sign of his dark phantom anywhere. He looked up at the second story balcony, the level he had seen the mirage at in the lobby. It was vacant.

"Monsieur Phantom?" He whispered loudly to the air, for who else could it have been?

But there was no answer except the wind in the trees. His answer reminded him of the probability that his hair had been mussed, so he reached into his vest pocket and retrieved an object he never failed to be without: a comb.

_Insolent boy, _

_this slave of fashion,_

_basking in her glory._

_Ignorant fool,_

_this brave young suitor,_

_sharing in my triumph..._

Raoul froze, "Who-who is there?"

"The Angel of Music." Erik stepped out slowly from behind a great stone statue.

"You!" Raoul gasped and stepped back.

"I." The eyes behind the mask strayed to look at the comb in the Vicomte's hand, then he laughed. "What is you plan of defense, monsieur? To style me to death? My hair is not so tidy as yours, to be sure, but I really think you'd have a bit more tact considering your upbringing. You could have sent one anonymously with my paycheck."

"What do you want?" Raoul lowered his hand.

"You already know the answer to that, monsieur. I want you to leave Christine alone, to stop this selfish quest for her heart."

"And why would I do that?" _Blast! I have no sword!_

A low chuckle came from the masked figure, who _did_ have a sword. "Well I would think you'd hate to have your perfect face scarred, to say the least."

"Is that a threat, monsieur?"

Erik drew his sword slowly, "If you do not know the answer to that, my young fop, then I'm afraid there is really no hope for you."

"W-wait!" Raoul stepped back, "It _is_ a threat!"

"No monsieur...it is a _promise_."

Raoul's eyes widened even more as the phantom advanced, "I have no weapon!"

"It's in your hand, monsieur...your _comb_." Erik walked towards him steadily. "Will you reconsider?"

_She's not worth it...no! I can't let him win! Yes I can...she's not worth it...my face...my life!_

"I–" he began to surrender, when a constable, armed, walked out onto the balcony on his patrol.

Erik's keen ears heard him. He whirled around and saw the guard, who's eyes widened at the sight of the opera ghost.

"Guards!" he shouted, drawing his pistol with a trembling hand.

Erik disappeared without a trace, and the guards saw no assailant when they came.

The guard blinked. "Monsieur Vicomte, are you alright? What has happened?"

"I'm alright." _They won't believe it was the Opera Ghost..._ "it was an enemy...I was threatened," _promised..._ "but that was as far as it got. May I have an escort backstage, as a precaution?"

"I will do so personally, Monsieur Vicomte." The guard bowed.

Raoul combed his hair, then went with his armed guard to Christine's dressing room.

"Raoul!" Christine's welcoming smiled turned into a concerned frown when she saw the guard. "Is something wrong?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," he turned to the guard, "will you wait here until I return?"

"Yes sir."

Raoul placed a wad of bills into his hand. "Good man." He placed his hand on the small of Christine's back and propelled her into her dressing room.

"What happened?"

"Your Angel of Music tried to kill me!" he suppressed a yell.

"What?" her eyes widened.

"There, on the balcony, he told me to leave you alone, or he would kill me."

Christine was silent.

"But of course," he took her hands in his, "I would never leave you, my dear." _If only I could!_

"I know, Raoul." she sank into his arms. "Just be careful."

_Oh how I will!_

"What did you hear about me in the lobby?" She tried to smile.

"Everyone was enchanted, my darling. They all wanted to know about you, who you were, where you came from." He stroked her cheek. "And I told them."

"You know, Raoul," she said softly after a moment, "I couldn't have gotten this far without Erik."

_Does she care for _him

"Yes you could have." He looked at her, "Never underestimate your talents, my love." He kissed her. "I must go. I will see you tomorrow."

"Alright."

Raoul shut her door behind him quietly, then walked towards the exit with the guard at his side.

_This isn't over, monsieur Vicomte..._

Raoul whirled around, but saw nothing.

_Tonight I was interrupted and your life was spared...do not make the mistake of thinking that that will happen again. Do not fail to comply with my wishes, monsieur, and remember that I see all..._


	5. Tired of Games

Disclaimer: I still don't own the Phantom of the Opera: musical, book, film or otherwise, saavy? Very well then...

Chapter 5

Tired of Games

Christine locked the door after her suitor as he left with his escort to his carriage. _An escort! _She rolled her eyes and shook her head at his cowardice. _Although, Erik _is _a rather intimidating specter. _She giggled, _I wish I could have seen Raoul's eyes bulge to twice their size when Erik threatened him. And seeing his hair mussed really would have been a change of scenery_.

_Christine..._

She whirled around. "Angel?" Her eyes darted around her room, looking for the form to which the voice belonged.

"Am I?"

Erik stepped out from behind her dressing screen; how he got there was a mystery only he could answer.

"Really, Erik, I had hoped that you would behave yourself and not endanger the life of one of _your_ opera's finest patrons."

"I could easily compensate for his loss of financial support; as for his loss of life, I hardly consider that a loss."

"Erik!" _He's right though..._

"Christine!" Erik explained, repeating her tone of voice. "I don't know what you see in him, he obviously has the intellectual abilities of a pigeon, not to mention his foppish behavior and tendency to be ever present and yet ever unwanted."

"I've already told you there's nothing between us, master."

"And what do you take me for, Christine? A fool? I see more than you think."

"Then perhaps you had better look at the right people, monsieur, for I am sure you have mistaken me Raoul for another couple."

Erik's eyes flashed in anger for a moment, then resumed their previous keen-eyed stare.

"Perhaps you had better learn to set your affections on one man, I tire of this game." He turned to go.

"Wait!"

He paused, then slowly turned towards her.

"Erik..." The wheels had begun to turn in her mind, "Will you meet me here tomorrow? You could bring some Vodka, perhaps, and we could just talk, after our lesson, of course."

Erik stared at her for a moment in shock. "Vodka, Christine?" he asked slowly, "Isn't that a bit strong? I do not think that it would take you more than a glass before you were rendered unfit for intelligent conversation."

"The Vodka was more for your comfort than mine, it would relax you after our lengthy lesson tomorrow...you know how I tend to make you tense with all the mistakes I make."

Erik agreed with her softly. "But you are improving." He added.

Christine stepped towards him and cupped the left side of his face, making his heart rate accelerate at her touch. "Thanks to you."

He placed his gloved hand over hers and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her touch on his face, reveling in the fact that he was being touched by _her_, that she would dare and desire to touch him in a loving manner with kind words.

"Christine..." he murmured. He placed his hand gently on the back of her head and the other around her waist, inclining his head towards her slowly, hesitantly, as if at any moment she would break free and scream, reminded of his horrible face hidden beneath his mask.

But Christine did not break free. Instead, she placed her arms around his neck, burying one hand in his hair, welcoming his warm, tender kiss, surprised at how it affected her. For a moment, she could have sworn that she too was in love.

When they parted at last, Christine gazed into Erik's eyes and he into hers. His blue eyes were filled with love, but there was something else there...longing...and pain. Pain because he knew that she could never really love him, that he had deceived himself...pain from the knowledge that she would kiss his rival the same way the next day. Her eyes told him that she loved him, but no words had ever been said to that effect, and her eyes had deceived him before.

"Good night, my angel." he breathed.

"Good night, Erik."

Erik slowly turned and disappeared the way he came.

Christine stood still for a moment, then put her hand to her forehead. So many feelings! What was that, that feeling she had felt when they had kissed? Love? Impossible! But why? Why so impossible? They shared common interests, they complimented each other. But he was a murderer, a cold-hearted killer, a possessive, deformed maniac.

_That's not true,_ she reminded herself, _he is more than that, the life he chose was almost chosen _for_ him. He doesn't kill for a hobby, he kills to survive. His past has been so difficult. No...there is more beneath his mask than his scarred face...there is a heart and a soul...how could I have not seen that? _

And Raoul? What of him? Raoul was a fop; a shallow, rich young man with nothing more to offer than the aforementioned. She had never felt anything when she kissed him, his childhood friendship with her had been a naive one, puppy-love, a schoolgirl romance, nothing notable. She agreed with Erik...this game was getting dull. It was time to decide.

She had her picnic with Raoul the next morning, a basket breakfast in the park.

"Raoul?" She asked him sweetly, "Would you care to have supper with me in my dressing room this evening?"

"Of course, my dear, I am always happy to spend time with you."

_The feeling isn't mutual, but at least you're falling for my little scheme..._

"Wonderful!" she sighed happily, "You may bring a bottle of champagne and I will provide a fine supper."

"Very well, my darling, I look forward to it."

_So do I..._


	6. Drink With Me

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine...no, none of it(except the plot, of course)...seriously, I DON'T OWN IT!

Chapter 6

"Drink With Me..."

Erik arrived early to Christine's dressing room that evening, but Christine was nowhere to be found. He raised an eyebrow. "Christine?"

There was no answer.

Sighing, he sat down in one of the two chairs at the table and set the bottle of Vodka down onto it. He glanced at the clock on the wall, drumming his fingers on the table. He was alone for only a few minutes before the fun started.

Raoul knocked on the door, sending Erik bolting to his feet.

"Christine?" The Vicomte asked from outside of the door. "Christine?" He opened the door.

Erik stared at him, surprised.

Raoul dropped the bottle of expensive champagne he carried without seeming to notice in his shock.

"Good evening, monsieur Vicomte." Erik greeted him cooly after a few moments of stunned silence.

"I don't think so." Raoul found his voice, "Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"That's a lie."

"Oh yes," Erik's voice dripped with sarcasm, "It's a lie. You see I'm just so fond of your company, monsieur, that I decided to wait here for you to come. I missed you, why don't you write?"

"This must be a trick."

"Probably. But of her design, not mine."

"Why should I believe you?"

Erik shrugged. "Then you explain it." He glanced down, "I'd step out of that champagne puddle if I were you, it may soak through and rot the expensive leather on your shoes."

Raoul looked down and hastily stepped out of it. When he realized he had stepped closer to Erik in his haste to preserve his shoes, he gasped and jumped back.

Erik rolled his eyes, "Oh come now, you're not that attractive either."

Raoul's eyes widened, "Christine thinks so...and so have others."

"Your mother doesn't count."

Raoul turned to leave in a huff, "I'm going to find Christine."

"Wait, monsieur!" Erik called to him.

Raoul froze.

"Drink with me."

"I beg your pardon?" He turned towards him.

Erik waved a hand towards the empty chair and the Vodka bottle. "Drink with me."

"Why?" Raoul asked slowly.

Erik shrugged, "You wouldn't make me drink alone, would you?"

"Actually I would." Raoul again turned to go.

"I suppose you couldn't hold your liquor anyway, having only been exposed to a lighter alcoholic beverage such as champagne. You're not good for much are you?"

Raoul froze again at his words, then turned and stalked back into the room and sat in the chair. Erik grinned and sat across from him. He poured hardly more than a drop into one shot glass, and filled another almost to the brim, handing the nearly empty one to Raoul, who merely stared at it.

"Do you mean to insult me, monsieur?"

"I don't want to give you more than you can handle."

"Fill it." Raoul ordered.

Erik grinned and did as he said, then handed it to him. He raised his glass, "To Christine, the orchestrator of this meeting, may she have a good explanation for this incident."

Raoul gulped and raised his glass, staring at it, "How do I know this isn't poisoned?"

"Oh please! As if I would poison myself and Christine. You watched me pour it yourself and as I recall you asked for more. It's not poisoned."

Raoul took a deep breath, "To Christine." He and Erik put the glass to their lips at once, though their reactions were vastly different.

Raoul tried not to inhale as the powerful liquor came closer to his lips. Erik downed the entire shot glass in one gulp, setting it down on the table hard. Raoul's eyes widened and, not to be outdone, gulped the entire glass. He didn't realize his mistake until it was too late. Heat surged through his body, his eyes watered, and a giant fit of coughing seized him. Erik laughed as Raoul doubled over, coughing as if he had swallowed a bug the size of the Eiffel Tower.

"Perhaps milk would be better for you, monsieur."

"Pour me another glass." Raoul gasped. He would win this battle, not the Phantom.

"With pleasure." Erik refilled both their glasses.

"To your health, monsieur, may you recover from your last shot before you down the next."

Raoul growled inwardly and tapped his glass against Erik's. Their reactions were pretty much the same as they had been before.

"Boy, is it hot in here or what?" Raoul's eyes were red and his speech was beginning to slur.

"No, I don't think so, monsieur. Another glass?" Erik refilled their glasses again.

"To you, monsieur Phantom," Raoul raised his glass.

"To me?" Erik raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, may you have the sense not to carry out whatever vile plans you may have concocted towards Christine in your anger towards her and her absence this evening."

"Monsieur Vicomte," Erik grinned mischievously, "I would say Christine is the least of your worries at this moment." He raised his glass with a slight inclination of his head, then drank it's contents in one gulp.

Raoul's thoughts were much too blurry to clearly translate the meaning of the Phantom's last remark, as evidenced by the frown of confusion that came over his face, so he merely raised his glass and braced himself for the draining of it.

"Where'd you get this stuff anyway?" Raoul slurred, staring at his empty shot glass, unsuccessfully attempting to answer his own question.

"I have my ways," Erik answered mysteriously. "However I never planned on wasting it on you."

Raoul burped.

"Though I suppose it wasn't a waste." Erik grinned at his success; the Vicomte was completely inebriated. "So, Vicomte, have you given any thought to my mandate? Will you relinquish this foolish quest of yours for Miss Daae's heart?"

"Christine?" Raoul's guard had been brought down by the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed and he was now ready, as the Phantom had suspected, to say and do just about anything. "My goodness is she annoying! And really, she isn't all that good looking." A foolish grin spread across his face, "Now her friend, what's her name? Lil'...lil' Giry...now _she_ might be worth going after."

Erik paid close attention to his rival's words; it took extra attention to make out his slurred speech. "So you will leave Christine alone?"

"Nope." Raoul hiccuped and winced as he drank another shot full.

"And why not?" Erik's voice had a dangerous edge to it that would have made Raoul's blood run cold had he not been to inebriated to realize it.

"Because."

"Because you're too drunk to have any sense?" Erik clenched and unclenched his fist, restraining himself from strangling his rival on the spot.

"I swear to drunk I'm not God." Raoul shook his head and attempted to pour himself another shot, frowning in concentration as he tried to make the liquid go _into_ the glass.

"Give me that." Erik snatched the bottle from him and refilled their glasses himself. "You _are_ drunk and you're wasting my Vodka to boot. Now," he raised his glass, "to Meg then?"

"Meg!" Raoul attempted to smack his forehead and missed, grazing the top of his head, "that's her name. Yes, to Meg, and may Christine never find out."

"That's hardly the appropriate behavior, monsieur Vicomte, claiming to love a woman with all your heart and then loving another."

"What would you know about it?" Raoul coughed after draining his glass yet again.

"More than you, that's certain."

"You?"

Erik clenched his fists, "Yes, me."

"Ha! How?"

"Because I love her, and you don't. You've already admitted to this. Why do you still pursue her?"

"Well, it's time I get married, so I'm told. But mainly I want to steal her from you." He gulped another glass.

Erik's eyes narrowed, "Well it won't work."

"We'll see about that." Raoul attempted to stand.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Yeeessss." The Vicomte steadied himself and blinked hard. " The Vodka is gone and you know what they say: 'Two'z comp'ny but tree'z a crowd.'"

"Well that would be a concern, but since there is only two of us..."

"I can count!" Raoul glared at him. "One of you is bad enough, but two!"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Allow me to help you to the door."


	7. Explanations

Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera, alas, is still not my property. In a perfect world, it would be, but this is not a perfect world, therefore I cannot claim to own the magnificent work(s).

Chapter 7

Explanations

Christine sipped her hot cocoa carefully, then grinned as she thought of the beverages the two men in her life were probably partaking of at that moment. She had cleverly planned to arrange a meeting of the two and then leave them to their own devices while she enjoyed a pleasant evening of shopping and dining with Meg. _But what will be the outcome?_

"Christine!" Meg raised her voice over the din of the café, jerking Christine out of her reverie.

"What? Oh," Christine placed her cup down on the table with a sigh. "I'm sorry Meg, I was just...thinking."

"About?" Meg raised her eyebrows with a knowing smile. "Perhaps the attentions of a certain Vicomte?"

"Something like that." Christine smiled guiltily.

"He's quite a catch, you know. Perfect for you."

"Is he?" Christine responded absently.

"Well yes!" Meg looked at her friend, concerned, noting her faraway gaze and lack of decision on such an important point. "Don't you think so?"

Christine looked at her, then laughed softly, "We were so young, Meg. Childhood romances are hardly trustworthy to build such strong attachments on into adulthood, considering we only met each other again a few weeks ago. We're different people now."

"Not so different."

Christine smiled, remembering Raoul's strong opposition to making mud-pies, playing in the rain, and other sorts of childhood play that would cause him to get dirty. "No, I suppose not."

"Are you uncertain of your love for him?"

What could she say? She could tell Meg anything, except this. She also hadn't told Meg who her tutor really was, so she couldn't really tell her about her little love triangle. No, it was best if she worked this out herself. Raoul should remain her suitor to the public eye until she figured things out.

She gave her friend a vague answer: "You've seen us together yourself, doesn't it look like I'm certain?" She smiled.

Meg smiled back, "Yes, it certainly does. Then have you quarreled? You seem so uncertain and withdrawn."

"No, of course not. I'm tired, that's all. Shall we return?"

"Yes, it's getting late."

The two stood, fastened their cloaks, and picked up their many bags as those who have been well practiced in balancing several packages at once. They parted ways as they reached the corridors of the opera house: Meg to the dormitories and Christine to her dressing room.

She set her many packages on the table and looked around. The room was empty, and exactly as she had left it; no bloodstains, no overturned chairs or tables, no scattered flowers, no broken mirrors, nothing. Her mirror was slightly ajar, however, so she opened it and walked down to the cellars of the opera house where Erik had made his abode.

"I had hoped that you would come." He said to her as she stepped out of the boat, without turning around from his piano.

"You left the mirror open."

"So I did." He continued to play his music. "Why did you leave me alone with the fop tonight, Christine?"

"I–"

"Don't even think about lying to me, you're in enough hot water as it is."

Christine shut her mouth. "I thought you two needed some time to work some things out." She said finally.

Erik grinned as he recalled his success. He had heard from Raoul's own lips his true intentions. "But you lied to me." There was no trace of humor in his voice; he still took her lying habit very seriously.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"Oh, you're sorry." Erik stopped playing and turned to face her. "Always you're sorry, and always you lie again and again and again!" He stood and walked towards her. "How much longer, Christine? I've given you my music, I've trained you well, and yet you take without giving back. All I receive in return is more lies and more pain."

"What would you have me give?"

"You know what I would have from you, Christine." He placed his hand on her cheek gently. "I want you to return my feelings towards you." He whispered.

" _Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,_

_lead me, save me from my solitude._

_Say you want me with you here, beside you._

_Anywhere you go let me go too._

_Christine, that's all I ask of you."_

"All?" She whispered. "Just my love? As if that's an easy thing to give."

He withdrew his hand and looked at her a long time before he turned away, "It would be if it existed."

She sighed, "Erik, I left you alone with Raoul tonight so that you two could figure out what I couldn't."

"And that would be?"

"Where my love belongs."

Erik laughed, a short, harsh laugh, "I think that if _you_ don't know that, Christine, no one does."

"I had hoped that one of you would prove his love by fighting the other off, or just talk it over, which I had hardly considered an option considering your hatred for one another."

Erik laughed again, scornfully. "Is it assuming too much to say that you want neither of us dead?"

"Well, not really. In truth, Erik, I wouldn't mind as much if Raoul was dead, I just had somewhat hoped that it wouldn't come to that."

"So...you don't love him?"

Christine hesitated. "Let's walk together, like we used to." She said finally.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded in assent and offered her his arm.

"He doesn't love you, Christine." He said softly after a few minutes of silence.

She looked at him, "How do you know?"

"He told me."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's true. Raoul doesn't love you, he admitted this to me once he was drunk enough."

"You got him _drunk_?"

Erik smiled, "Well, that may be stating it mildly. You could tell that he had had nothing but light liquors all his life, Vodka was quite a shock."

Christine laughed, a beautiful sound that made his heart jump.

He smiled, "Anyway, he said that the only reason he was courting you was to steal you from me; he's apparently quite jealous of me, of my talents, I suppose. He's very attracted to Meg, however."

"Meg?"

Erik nodded. "I...I hope I haven't upset you," He told her after a few moments. That was the last thing he had intended to do.

"No." Christine shook her head solemnly, "No, Erik, I'm glad you told me." Her eyes strayed to a large cabinet to her left, covered by a curtain. "What's this?"

Erik took a deep breath as her hand reached for the cord and pulled back the curtains.

An amazingly accurate replica of her was inside, complete with a bride's veil and dress.

Christine screamed wildly, causing Erik to scream, not only from the shock of her scream but from the pounding it instigated in his forehead. He hastily removed his hand from it to catch her gallantly as she jumped into his arms.

"What is _that_?" She pointed her finger wildly at her head staring back at her.

"Ah..." He searched for words to explain.

"Erik?"

"I...made some preparations."

"You have more spare time than I thought."

"Well, I work on it when I can." He took a deep breath and steadied himself, "You see, I really do love you, Christine..I want you to be my wife. I stare at this often...I've done my best to preserve your likeness this way, even if you never come to love me in return."

She slowly stepped down from his arms and stared at her likeness before closing the curtains again. "I had no idea." She said softly.

"No, of course not."

They walked again in silence.

"Erik?" Christine said after a few more minutes of silence.

"Yes?"

"Can you forgive me, for lying to you this evening?"

"I do every time, Christine."


	8. Thoughts and Dreams

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. What? I repeat myself? Ha! Never!

Chapter 8

Thoughts and Dreams

Christine couldn't sleep at all that night. She tossed and turned on her bed, weighing each contestant for her heart in her mind over and over again until the room seemed to spin around her. But amidst these thoughts came overwhelming feelings of guilt; not for Raoul, but for Erik. The pain in his voice echoed in her head again and again as the look of pain on his face appeared in her mind.

"_I do every time..."_

No matter what she did to him, Erik's love for her never dimmed, but grew. Her real feelings became far more apparent to her, as did her own unworthiness for the genius, in her eyes. Erik deserved better than her. She had been selfish, conniving, manipulative, and all out hurtful to him the past few weeks as her plan had formulated. As for Raoul, the only reason she still considered him was because Erik deserved better. The Vicomte was not the man she loved, she knew this now. But was it too late?

_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_these games we've played till now are at an end..._

Hot tears streamed down her cheek and onto her pillow, gleaming in the moonlight. _Oh Erik! I love you, I know that now. How could I have been so horribly blind? Forgive me, please Erik, just once more. Oh how could you love me now?_ Her body shook with her sobs as she silently wept, alone. She hadn't felt so alone since her father had died several years before. Except now no one could know, she could not tell anyone her sorrows or receive any consolation.

_Wishing you were somehow here again,_

_wishing you were somehow near._

_Sometimes it seemed_

_if I just dreamed,_

_somehow you would be here..._

_Wishing I could hear your voice again,_

_knowing that I never would..._

_Dreaming of you_

_won't help me to do_

_all that you dreamed I could!_

_Passing bells_

_and sculpted angels,_

_cold and monumental,_

_seem, for you, the wrong companions-_

_you were warm and gentle..._

_Wishing you were somehow near again,_

_knowing we must say goodbye..._

_Try to forgive,_

_teach me to live,_

_give me the strength to try!_

_No more memories,_

_no more silent tears,_

_no more gazing across the wasted years..._

_help me say goodbye... _

Christine decided at last that she could not marry Raoul; she couldn't let him accomplish his underhanded scheme. And Erik...well, if he could possibly forgive her and still want her to marry him, she was his. But this last thought was nearly a hopeless one to her; how could he still care for her, despite what he had said? Christine finally cried herself to sleep a few hours before dawn, dreamless save for Erik's face and voice in her mind.

Meanwhile, Erik was unaware of his beloved's thoughts and was having dreams of his own. If any had been present to see him, they would have seen a smile playing on his lips as he dreamed the most pleasant of dreams...

_Christine was dressed in the bridal gown and veil, with the ring on her finger. She smelled like the roses she carried, and she looked even more beautiful than they. As the customary kiss was given after their vows were said, a loud protest echoed throughout Erik's home underground. _

"_Noooo!" Raoul splashed through the water._

_Erik and Christine broke apart and stared in surprise at the intruder._

"_No, Christine, don't!" _

_Erik sighed and pulled out his lasso, preparing to pun-jab the young Vicomte. Unfortunately, Raoul made the wise decision to raise his hand and take the lasso off of his neck as it fell. Erik ground his teeth and threw down the rope, advancing towards his rival and wrestling him to the gate, where Christine helped him tie her former suitor to the iron structure. _

"_Wait!" Raoul gasped. He stared at Christine, "Christine, please, tell him to let me go. Please, my love, I beg of you."_

_Christine folded her arms and glanced at her new husband, "Well, my love? What shall we do?"_

"_Plan B." Erik advanced again towards the Vicomte, opening his vest and removing the comb that lay securely in one of the pockets._

"_No, no, Erik..." Christine stayed his arm and a sigh of relief was emitted from the fop. His relief was only temporary, however, because an evil smile crept across the red lips of his former betrothed, "Let me."_

_Erik smiled and handed her the comb._

_Christine took it, her evil smile ever broadening, and held it in the air with both hands. _

_Raoul's eyes widened, "No, no please! Not that!"_

_SNAP!_

"_NOOOO!" Raoul screamed as Christine broke his comb and dropped it carelessly into the water._

_But more was to come, for the newlyweds both attacked him then, in different ways. Erik mussed his hair, heedless of his screams. Christine brought forth a scroll and read his sentence:_

"_The Vicomte will be tied to the gate until 5:00 pm, at which time he will be shown a mirror and forced to stare at the shadow which will have grown on his face at that point. Then, the mud pies he so carefully avoided as a child will be brought to him for his supper and smeared on his white shirt, though not on his face because mud is good for the skin, and also will be smeared beneath his manicured nails. His hair will be mussed every hour on the hour until knots form which are hopeless to untangle. Erik's musical box will play constantly. Christine will do her Carlotta imitation every fifteen minutes until the prisoner is released. Erik will shave one eyebrow and Christine will shave the other in five minutes' time. When the prisoner is ready to be released, a skunk will be brought forth to give the victim a new scent as he returns to his home to live with his humiliation."_

_Raoul had passed out as soon as Christine had mentioned his five o'clock shadow. Their plans were carried out flawlessly, adding to the joys of the day..._

It was at this time that Erik woke up.

"Blast!" He slammed his hand against his pillow. Then he smiled, remembering the look on Raoul's face when Christine broke his comb. "Priceless." He lay down again and went back to sleep.

Raoul had collapsed onto his bed after having drunk all that Vodka with Erik, and the deep sleep he fell into afforded him the most pleasant of dreams...

_He rode through the streets of Paris on a white horse, wearing his favorite shirt: A white poet shirt which displayed his freshly-shaven chest, causing all the women in his path to swoon. As he reached the Opera Populaire, he leaped gallantly off of his horse, catching Christine as she too began to faint. Just then, Erik appeared from around the corner._

"_You failed to heed my warnings, monsieur." He drew his sword, "Now you must pay!"_

_Raoul laughed and drew his sword, "You will find no fear in me, Monster. En garde!"_

_The two engaged in a dramatic display of swordplay; Raoul pretended not to heed Christine's gasps and cries of fear for his life. His hair remained perfect throughout the entire duel, and he didn't sweat a drop, much to his pride and pleasure. He won the duel in less than a minute, running his sword through the Phantom's heart. _

_Christine ran to him and kissed him, praising his wonderful swordsmanship, his beautiful hair, his handsome, flawless features, etc etc etc. However, he no longer needed her, since he had killed Erik; he didn't care anything for her outside of taking her affections away from his adversary, who now lay dead a few feet away. He pushed her aside and strode toward Meg, who also had watched the duel from a balcony. Raoul quickly scaled the wall and kissed her, the chorus girl becoming limp in his arms. Christine promptly screamed and fell into a heap on the spot(horrified at the exchange in the Vicomte's affections)as Raoul carried Meg in one arm as he repelled down the wall with the other. His triumph was abruptly ended by a growl to his right. Raoul whirled around to see Erik standing upright and armed, blood still wet and dripping from his heart._

"_You're supposed to be dead!" He gasped._

"_You fool! No one can kill the Phantom of the Opera!" Erik lunged towards him, piercing his side before he was able to block the blow._

"_And before you die:" Erik showed his adversary a mirror as he slashed his face, "look upon your face, Vicomte! Now mock me, if you dare!" He laughed, an evil, maniacal laugh that sent chills up and down Raoul's spine. _

"_NOOOOO!" He screamed..._

Raoul sat straight up in bed, panting, covered in a cold sweat. His sudden movement instigated a horrible pounding in his head and he promptly fell back onto his pillows, regretting ever having tasted that vile liquid known as Vodka. Reminded of his dream, he hastily checked his face, then grabbed the mirror he always kept on his bedside table and looked into it in the moonlight. No scars, no blade marks whatsoever on his perfect face...except...what was _that_! He stared harder at the barely visible mark on his chin, then gasped in horror: _A PIMPLE!_


	9. The Truth Revealed

Chapter Nine

The Truth Revealed

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera...still.

Erik drank a hot cup of black coffee the next morning, still with a lingering headache from the Vodka the night before. He was sitting at his piano reviewing the music he had written when Christine walked in for her lesson. He stood at the sound of her approach, taken aback by what he saw. Christine's eyes were red and swollen, with dark circles beneath them from weeping and a lack of sleep. The color had disappeared from her cheeks, leaving the rouge she had put on to make up for it. Her appearance was otherwise neat and tidy, as usual.

"Christine..." Erik's brow creased with concern as he walked towards her. "Christine, my angel, what is wrong?"

Christine fought back her tears and attempted to smile, "I've just been...thinking...about...everything." she finished lamely.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "And...is all resolved?"

"Almost."

Erik stepped closer to her and took her by the arms gently, looking into her eyes. "Christine, why don't we cancel our lessons for today...and simply spend it together?"

Christine hesitated.

"It's quite alright." He assured her.

She smiled a little and nodded.

"Good." He smiled and rubbed her arms comfortingly. "Where would you like to go?"

Christine blinked. "You mean, within the Opera Populaire?"

"No, I mean anywhere. This day is yours, Christine; my apologies, this is long overdue."

Christine thought for a moment, "I know of a beautiful garden near the borders of Paris. Hardly anyone will be there, especially at this time of day, so you needn't worry about being...seen by anyone."

Erik looked at her, "Christine, you can go anywhere, even if it is densely populated, don't worry about me."

Christine nodded. "I'd like to go to the garden."

Erik nodded. "Very well." He hesitated, then kissed her lightly on the lips, pleased that she didn't pull away. "Get your cloak and I'll meet you at the carriage house in fifteen minutes."

"Alright." She smiled at him, then left.

Erik watched her go, then groaned as soon as she was out of earshot, putting a hand to his forehead. _Anywhere?_ _Erik, you fool! There are _reasons_ why you stay out of public areas as much as possible...you remember_He quickly blocked out the memories of his tormented past. _Why did you do this?_ But he already knew the answer to that question. _Because I love her._

Fifteen minutes later, Erik met Christine in the carriage house. To spare onlookers the horror of the Opera Ghost, he had Madame Giry find a driver for the carriage and tell him of their destination beforehand. Erik covered his face with his cloak and turned his back to the driver as he helped Christine into the carriage. He climbed in quickly after her and shut the door, making sure the blinds were closed on the right side of the carriage to spare Christine any humiliation.

Christine frowned. "Erik," she laid a hand on his, "Are you sure this is alright?"

"Of course." He forced a smile and patted her hand.

Christine looked at him, then closed the blinds on her side of the carriage and smiled at him.

"Christine"

"No," she placed her fingers gently on his lips, "This is your day too, Erik. If the blinds will make you feel more comfortable then it will make me feel more comfortable."

He looked into her eyes, unable to speak, then turned away to hide the tears in his eyes. "Thank you." he whispered. He couldn't remember anyone ever saying that to him, anyone ever wanting to be sure that he was happy, to go out of their way to do so.

Christine merely smiled in response and faced forward, still holding his hand.

They reached the garden in thirty minutes time. Erik climbed out of the carriage, hiding his face, and blinked against the bright sunlight. His headache had significantly improved since the beginning of his morning, luckily, so adjusting to the sunlight wasn't too painful. He helped Christine out of the carriage and began to walk with her down one of the garden's many paths. They walked together in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the flowers, happy just to be in one another's company.

"They're so beautiful." Christine whispered.

"Like you." Erik said sincerely.

Christine smiled, "Sometimes I come here just to be alone, to think. It's one of my favorite places."

"Then we must visit it often."

"I'd like that." _Oh how I would love it!_

Erik plucked a red rose and handed it to her with a smile.

Christine took it and closed her eyes, savoring it's pleasant, unique aroma.

They laughed and launched into conversation, roaming all the paths and talking about almost everything, returning to the carriage only once to retrieve a picnic basket and eat it's contents in the warm sunlight of a field. Then they returned to their roaming, heedless of the passing hours until the sun began to set.

"Oh," Christine's voice was sad, "I have to get back to the Opera, Erik; I have a performance tonight."

"Of course." _If only this day wouldn't end..._ "Christine," He took both her hands in his and looked at them, gathering his thoughts, "You said that you had almost resolved 'everything', which I can only assume concerns your affection for me and Raoul. Please, Christine, will you tell me where your heart truly lies?"

Christine looked into his eyes, his pleading, desperate eyes, only one of which was not framed by the mask. So much pain was there, and she couldn't put away the thought that she was the cause of it. She looked away, "Erik, I...I can't,"

"_Please_ be honest with me, Christine." His voice pleaded with her, she dared not look into his eyes.

"I will be," she took a deep breath and looked into his eyes, attempting to prove to him her honesty, "I am...and I'm so sorry that I wasn't before. Please believe me, Erik, if I could go back and undo all the pain I've caused you, I would." She fought back her tears...she would explain everything. No more lies or deception. "I pretended to be in love with you so that you would teach me your music and I would become a famous singer, not just a chorus girl."

Erik swallowed hard. Deep down...he had always known his was true.

"I pretended to be in love with Raoul," she continued, "because he was rich and had a station, I could take my career anywhere. So I used the two of you to further my career, and I regret it. I realized that I had to choose between the two of you, if I was in love with one, or just break off the whole thing. I thought about it long and hard, and I found what I had known, but somehow forgotten about until it was too late. It's not Raoul that I love, Erik, it's _you_."

Erik's grip tightened on her hands. _Is she really saying it? Can it be true? No, I must be dreaming!_

"But I can never marry you, I know that also. Because you deserve better. I've been so horrible; I don't expect you to forgive me, I just wanted to tell you the truth...for once."

Erik shook his head, "No, no Christine, you're wrong. I _do_ love you. I always have." He placed his hand on her cheek, "Do you really think that I would nullify all my feelings for you now? After I have repeated my feelings for you time and time again and told you that I've forgiven you?"

"Yes! Because you deserve better, and I've wronged you so, past forgiveness. I considered Raoul briefly because of that, but I can't marry him, not after what you told me. I can't let him win."

"Then marry me!" Erik knelt, "Christine, please believe me once and for all that all is forgiven and my love still stands, as true and as deep as it ever was."

Christine was speechless.

"_Too long you've wandered in winter...far from my far-reaching gaze."_ Erik sang softly.

Christine smiled through her tears and continued, "_Angel of Music, I've denied you, turning from true beauty! Angel of Music, my protector...come to me, strange Angel!_"

Erik smiled and stood, holding her hand close to him and reaching for the other, "_I am your Angel of Music...come to me: Angel of Music!_"

He kissed her, unable to believe her love for him and overcome by his for her. She was kissing him back, with as much love and more than she had professed. His love was shared now, his joy was complete–

"_Angel of Darkness, cease this torment!_"

Almost.

The two betrothed broke apart and stared in surprise at their intruder.

Raoul stood, with his arm outstretched towards them, eyes opened wide in surprise and fear that his plan would never succeed.

"Christine," Erik whispered, "I'd hate to have to dispose of this boy in front of you, so perhaps you should speak with him."

"Me? Whatever would I say to him? You know how stubborn he is."

Erik stared at her calmly, "Simply tell him that you don't love him."

"Ha! Surely you jest! _He won't listen_!"

"My dear Christine, think of whom we speak." They turned to look at him momentarily, then looked back at each other. "How difficult can he be to confuse?"

Christine nodded. "True, but what if it doesn't work?"

"Broaden your vocabulary." He paused, "Any word exceeding three syllables ought to sufficiently addle his preposterously inbred mind."

Christine sighed. "Alright."

She walked over to him, "Raoul, there's something you should know."

He grabbed her hand and began to walk towards his carriage, "Tell me on the way home."

"No, Raoul!" She jerked him to a halt. "I don't love you. I love Erik...we're engaged."

Raoul looked at her, "I don't understand..."

Erik choked and turned around.

"Christine, look at me." Raoul continued, "I know my hair's probably mussed by now, but I can fix that. I have a pimple, but that will go away and I'll make sure it doesn't leave a mark. I'm rich, Christine, think of all the new clothes I could buy for you, and a mansion, jewels–"

"Erik is also quite wealthy, " Christine responded cooly, remembering the vast sum he had received for quite a long time from the managers, present and past, of the Opera Populaire. "In fact, now that I consider it...I have reason to believe that his wealth might even exceed yours, if not entirely dwarf it. But that doesn't matter anymore. I'm sorry it ever did. I love my career, but I love Erik more."

"Christine have you been drinking?"

"No! But from what I have been toldyou have, _cheri_," she added sarcastically, "I have heard all about your devious little scheme! For shame, Vicomtechasing after innocent little ballerinas! Your family would be appalled."

Raoul laughed nervously. "Christine, my love, I was drunk. People say things they don't mean when they're drunk."

Christine tossed her hair nonchalantly, "Wellfrankly, I do believe that Meg deserves much better than you, Monsieur le Vicomte. However, she is _not_ in love with younor will she be, I think, once she discovers the truth about all of us..."

"Forget Meg," Raoul changed the subject hastily, "Do you really want to live the rest of your life with this, this–"

"Alright, monsieur," Erik drew his sword, "That's quite enough of that and Christine has a performance to prepare for. So, either you leave this moment, or I shall be coerced into ending your pathetic life."

"Coerced..."Raoul frowned, pondering the meaning of the word.

"See?" Erik looked at Christine. "You should have used bigger words. 'Coerced' is hardly the limit on what I could have chosen, but we _are_ in a hurry and I was rather tired of hearing his degrading remarks upon my person."

"Degrading?" Raoul frowned again, giving up on 'coerced' and attempting to ascertain the meaning of this new word.

Erik rolled his eyes, "Why don't just go and marry your sister?"

Raoul looked confused, "I don't...have a sister..."

Erik grinned, "Then I'm afraid your family line will die off rather quickly."

Raoul blinked, "I–"

"You try my patience, Vicomte; either you elect to leave this moment, or I really will end your little inbred life without a moment's hesitation."

"Christine–"

Erik lunged at him, giving his adversary barely enough time to parry the blow.

"Villain!" spouted Raoul, "I'm unprepared!"

"Needless to say, you always are, Monsieur Vicomte. If you choose to put such a low value upon your life, then perhaps you ought to allow me to end it for you, and therefore spare the world the space, and the air that you are currently wasting on your person. However, I am not so dishonourable that I would have struck at you had I known that you were entirely unprepared for a duel! Is your faithful comb not about to act in your defense?"

Raoul parried another blow.

"Please! Perhaps we might reach an agreement with a little less...violence! EEP!" He ducked as the Phantom's blade sliced through the air where his head had been.

"What would you suggest?" Erik growled.

"Tea at the cafe?" He jumped back as Erik's sword came dangerously close to his chest.

"A facial?"

Erik growled, "Do not insult me, Monsieur. I know you are a gambling manbut that is verging on ridiculous."

"No, no, no! Pardon! I only wish to solve thingspeacefully!"

"Do you realize that I've been missing you _on purpose_? I could have killed you by now! Thrice over!"

"Christine, speak to him! Get him to see reason!" The Vicomte cried wildly.

"Leave her out of this, Vicomte, this is between you and me. She's already done her part, telling you that she doesn't love you. Now you must do yours. _Leave!_"

"Never!" Raoul barely missed the exposed portion of Erik's face.

"Fine! Then I you leave me no choice!"

"Wh-what are you going to do?" Raoul stepped back, eyes wide.

"Slice you into mince-meat, you asinine fop, what else?"

"Wait!"

"Ugh! I don't have time for this, Christine has a performance tonight and I must to return her to the opera house."

"I'll do it." Raoul offered meekly.

"Ha! I think not, monsieur."

"But–"

"Let's end this. What will it be, monsieur Vicomte? Leave Christine alone, or fight me to the death. It's your choice, but choose quickly."

A lightning bolt struck the Fop's brain just then; he suppressed a smile just before it could be detected by his adversary and the chorus girl. "Perhaps...perhaps we might...resolve this...tomorrow? After allwhy should we duel one another in front of Christine? It isn't dignified for gentlemen..."

Erik snorted. "And she has likely found your pathetic attempts at bravery to be quite boring as far as sport is concerned by NOW, Monsieur."

He thought for a moment, then glanced back at Christine, who raised an eyebrow. Well, she _did_ need to return to the opera, and what did he have to lose? Christine would never be wooed by Raoul again, not successfully anyway, and if he chose to leave Paris instead of fighting him tomorrow, he'd still be gone.

"Then you would agree to meeting here, tomorrow, at the noon hour? And you shall have your duel, as you wish, Monsieur le Fantome."

"Very well." He said slowly. "Until tomorrow then, monsieur Vicomte." He sheathed his sword and gave the fop a quick nod farewell before turning and guiding his new fiancé by the small of her back to their carriage and helping her in, hiding his face, mask and all, as before. He turned to look one last time at his adversary, who had not moved from where he had stood a few moments before, then stepped into the carriage and rode away to the opera house.


	10. Past the Point of No Return

Disclaimer: I don't own anything pertaining to _The Phantom of the Opera_, not even at chapter ten. Such a pity, such a pity...

Chapter 10

Past the Point of No Return

"_We have all been blind_

_and yet the answer is staring us in the face_

_this could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend."_

Raoul had met the managers, Andre and Firmin, to discuss his plans to rid the opera of it's Phantom.

They were, of course, most interested.

"_We're listening"_

"_Go on!"_

Raoul grinned.

"_We shall play his game. _

_Perform his work but remember we hold the ace._

_For if Miss Daae sings he is certain to attend."_

The opera performers had learned Erik's _Don Juan_, and that night was indeed to be their opening night, which Raoul had known, of course, but merely added to his speech for dramatic effect. The managers had caught on, however, and they finished their patron's thoughts excitedly before he finished telling them of his ingenious plan.

"_We make sure the doors are barred!"_

"_We make certain the men are there!"_

"_We make certain they're armed!" _Raoul piped in, stating the obvious a bit, determined to remain the mastermind of the plot.

The three men finished as one.

"_The curtain falls._

_His reign will end!"_

All this plotting had not, of course, gone unnoticed by Erik, who prepared for battle. He walked secretly through the opera house, making sure that all of his passageways were clear and his contraptions were ready to use. Then he went to Christine, appearing in her room through her mirror as she applied her makeup.

"Christine," he closed the mirror behind him. "It's a trap. I've heard that fop tell those poor excuse for opera managers his plan for trapping me."

"What?" Christine grew pale.

"He'll surround the opera house, inside and out, with armed guards to apprehend me. Therefore, I have devised a plan of my own."

"What is it?"

"I take Piangi's place during the performance, when he goes behind the curtain. Then you and I will go down to my halls through a series of trap doors."

"When?"

"After we sing 'Past the Point of No Return'."

Christine nodded silently.

"So you agree?"

"Yes, Erik. But don't kill Piangi, enough killing. Just knock him out or something."

"Fine."

"And have Madame Giry waiting for us with a priest."

"What for?"

"So we can be married right away! No more waiting, and I don't want my reputation sullied."

"Christine, may I remind you that we are going underground? _We're the only ones there!_"

"Even so, my request still stands."

"It's not that I don't agree with you, my love, but I really don't think anyone else should be there; Madame Giry and you know where I live, but no outsiders may come in."

Christine thought for a moment. "You could kidnap him."

Erik began to protest, then paused, devising a plan. "Very well." He grinned.

"And Meg must be my maid of honor."

"Now wait a minute–"

"Meg is my best friend, and we need a witness."

"What about Madame Giry?"

"Her daughter is just as trustworthy, believe me. I want her to visit me as well, Erik, so she'll need to learn the way sometime."

"Christine, if a secret gets let out to too many people, it ceases to be a secret. My home will soon become obvious to all!"

"Nonsense! It's just one more person. No one else, Erik, I promise."

Erik sighed. "Fine. You take care of Meg and her mother, I'll take care of the priest." He turned to go.

"Erik!"

He turned back.

"I've been thinking about something."

"Yes?"

"You...I don't think you'll like it."

"Oh for the sake of music, Christine, just spit it out! I haven't got time to dawdle."

Christine gulped, "I...think I should remove your mask after our song."

Erik was silent, staring at her. Christine thought she would burst before he finally spoke in a quiet, low voice, "Why?"

"Because. I could show everyone who I'm marrying, the man I love."

"You don't think that my managers and the Vicomte will take care of that?"

"I think it's important to show that what matters is who you are, not what you look like," she paused, "something you've struggled with all your life. This will get out, Erik, and everyone will know that I disappeared with you, whatever they call you. They'll know that I love you. And they will see the man behind the mask."

"What? Without paying?" he scoffed, remembering his tortured childhood.

Christine put a hand on his shoulder, "Erik, you know that's not what this is about."

"'The living corpse', Christine, that's what they called me. And that is who you're marrying."

"That's not true!" Christine placed her hand on the exposed portion of his face and looked into his eyes, "you are Erik, and someday people will realize that, even if it's after our lifetime. They will realize that you are a man, not a monster, like I have."

Erik sighed shakily, then kissed her. "Yes." he said quietly. Then he stroked her cheek and left.

Christine hastily finished her makeup and went to find Meg and Madame Giry; both of them would be told together to save time and breath, she decided.

Madame Giry was tightening the strings of her daughters corset in her room; a convenient coincidence, saving Christine from running all through the Opera Populaire to track down the two of them.

"Meg, Madame Giry, I must speak with you."

Madame Giry nodded and Christine closed and locked the door.

"I'm marrying Erik." She blurted out. There was no time to beat around the bush.

Madame Giry was silent, her gaze falling to the floor.

"Who is Erik?" Meg asked, looking from her mother to her friend in confusion.

"The Phantom of the opera." Christine said gently.

Meg's eyes widened. "I don'tChristinehow can you–"

"He is my Angel of Music, Meg. He is my tutor."

"The Phantom of the opera is your tutor?"

"Yes."

"All this time?"

Christine nodded.

"And you knew this?" She turned to her mother.

Madame Giry nodded.

"Why wasn't I told?" Meg asked quietly after a moment.

"I didn't tell anyone, Meg. Your mother knew because she knows him, and Raoul knew because he was his rival, but I told no one else. Erik is very secretive, which is why it's a surprise that I was allowed to come here and tell you."

"Christine it sounds as if he has you afraid of him! As if you're his slave! He_ 'allowed' _you to come?"

"I'm not his slave, both of us understand how vital it is that his home remains hidden, as he does. It's his domain, I have no right to take anyone there without his permission. I'm not his slave, just his respectful bride-to-be."

"Do you love him?" Madame Giry spoke.

"Yes, with all of my heart." Christine smiled.

The dance instructor searched the face of the young woman she knew so well in an attempt to ascertain the truth of these words. It was obvious that Christine was telling the truth.

"Very well." Madame Giry sighed. "I have known of his regard for you for a long time, but your regard for him is news to me. I hope you are sure, my dear, that you truly love him and are not merely under his spell."

"I've never been more sure of anything, Madame. We will marry tonight, and we want the two of you to be there, as witnesses, and Meg as my maid of honor."

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow, "And where will he find a priest?"

Christine smiled, "He has his ways."

Erik crept through the streets of Paris, unseen by passers-by, until he came to the nearest cathedral, where he could be sure of finding a priest. He quickly entered through a back door and closed it behind him, glancing around the candle-lit sanctuary for the object of his mission. He quickly found a priest, folding a cloth near the large doors of the cathedral. The Phantom stealthily made his way to the front of the room, right behind the priest.

Erik quickly, without a sound, placed a handkerchief drenched in a strong-smelling liquid onto his nose and held it there, catching the priest as he passed out.

He picked up the man, then took a small bible and snuck out the way he came, making his way even more cautiously through the streets of Paris, pausing only momentarily from time to time to adjust the weight of the man on his shoulders. Once in his halls, he laid the priest out on his bed with the bible next to him. Then he went to prepare for the premiere of _Don Juan_.

Meg caught Christine's arm as they waited backstage for the opera to begin.

"Christine, please explain to me what is going on."

"I can't, Meg. Not here."

"But–"

"Stay with your mother when you're backstage. Especially," she lowered her voice, "during 'Past the Point of No Return.' She will show you the way; Erik has disabled the traps on the path you will take."

"Erik? The Angel of Music? The Phantom of the Opera? Secret passages and traps?" Meg shook her head in disbelief.

"_Christine, you must have been dreaming;_

_stories like this can't come true._

_Christine, you're talking in riddles_

_and it's not like you."_

Christine put her hand on Meg's and looked into her eyes. "Stay with your mother, Meg."

The orchestra ended Piangi's song and he exited, knocked out, she was certain, by Erik in a matter of moments. She stepped out as the next song began,

"_No thoughts within her head_

_but thoughts of joy!_

_No dreams within her heart_

_but dreams of love!"_

Erik walked on the stage, dressed in Don Juan's costume.

"_You have come here..."_

He began to sing, casting a spell over his audience as he had over her, never missing a step of the choreography, smiling at her when the audience wouldn't see, reveling with her in their secret.

"_Past the point of no return,_

_no backward glances,_

_These games we've played till now_

_are at an end._

_Past the thought of "if" or "when,"_

_no use resisting,_

_abandon thought and let the dream descend..."_

The audience sat silent, enthralled by the voices filling the opera house. Raoul sat in his usual box, wonderingwhat the difference was between this scene and the scene before...something was different...but what? Perhaps his hair had fallen out of place...he pulled out his comb and hastily combed it again; five minutes can make a significant change in one's appearance. Piangi's voice had certainly improved between the scenes, but how?

"_And now I am here with you,_

_no second thoughts,_

_I've decided...decided..."_

The Vicomte noticed that it was not only Piangi's voice that had undergone a rapid change, it was his weight as well. Piangi was fat in the last song he had sung, now he was thin...perhaps an understudy had been brought in? But why?

Erik and Christine sang together now, beautifully:

"_Past the point of no return,_

_the final threshold, _

_the bridge is crossed_

_so stand and watch it burn..._

_we've passed the point of no return..." _

Wait...Raoul stood and stared at the man on stage. Then he heard it:

"_Say you'll share with me one love,_

_one lifetime..."_

Raoul gasped. That wasn't Piangi! That was the Phantom! The fiend! He rushed out of his box to tell the men it was time. "You will _not_ escape me this time, Erik, Phantom of the opera!"

Meanwhile, Erik continued to sing:

"_lead me,_

_save me from my solitude..._

_Say you want me with you here,_

_beside you..._

_anywhere you go,_

_let me go too..._

_Christine, _

_that's all I ask of–"_

Erik braced himself for the moment he had dreaded the entire evening: Christine reached up and took off his mask. He resisted the urge to hide his face as the audience screamed. For the short time his face was seen, horrible memories welled up in him; pain he had worked so hard to quell since his childhood rushed back to him...he just longed for it to end! He fought back tears and gritted his teeth, cutting the rope that would set off a series of events. He grabbed Christine firmly by the waist and held her tightly as the trap door beneath them released and they fell down through several levels. Then the chandelier was released. It flew down to the audience, swinging over heads and singeing feathers and silks as it's heat came too close for comfort, crashing on the stage.

"Oh no, no! _Not another one_!" Andre ripped his program and tugged his hair.

"We're ruined, Andre! Ruined!" Firmin wailed, looking up at the ceiling in despair.

Meanwhile, Erik was rushing through the cellars with Christine by the hand, resetting traps along his way. Christine stared at him; he was so quiet.

"Erik?"

He glanced at her in reply.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly alright."

"I never meant to hurt you."

Erik paused a moment, then kept walking. "I know."

"Please don't be upset with me."

Erik sighed and shook his head, "Christine, I understand your motives. I _chose_ to comply with your wishes because I love you; And I felt I owed it to you, in a way."

Christine's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You _owed_ it to me?"

Erik nodded, "You have chosen to come with me underground, to be my wife and give up the life you have previously known. It hurt, to hear them scream, to have them see, but it's over now. No one will ever need to see my face again."

Raoul followed the long corridors down to the Phantom's halls, somehow avoiding most of the traps and being clever enough to keep his hand at the level of his eyes the whole time, removing the pun-jab lassos that would have hung him by the neck. He stifled a scream as a rat crawled along the wall and wrinkled his nose. _Ugh, it's _so_ filthy here! Dark and damp, rat infested...it will take me weeks to wash all this out of my hair!_

Erik waved smelling salts beneath the priest's nose until he came to, looking around in confusion.

"Who-who are you?" his eyes widened as he inched away from the cloaked, masked specter.

"My name is Erik." he placed the smelling salts on a small stand next to him.

"Erik who?"

"I, erm, I don't know." he muttered, embarrassed.

The priest raised an eyebrow.

"I am known by many names, monsieur; I am certain that you are familiar with at least one."

"And they would be?"

"The Phantom of the Opera–"

The priest's eyes widened; he obviously had heard of the name and the stories that went with it.

"The Angel of Music, the Opera Ghost, or, O.G.–"

"Yes," the priest held up his hand, "I have heard of you. And why precisely, monsieur, have you brought me here?"

"Well, _precisely_, monsieur, I am in need of your assistance."

"So kidnaping was your only option?"

"Well, yes. I'm not very well received in public."

The priest's eyes softened, "I see. What do you need me for?"

"I'm getting married. We need you to perform the ceremony."

"Oh! Who's the lucky girl?" The priest grinned.

"Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae! What a lovely young woman, I have met her on several occasions. How is she? I know she has still been missing her father."

Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably, remembering how he had deceived Christine into thinking he _was_ her father for a time."Well, she's...still getting over her loss. But she's doing considerably better, I believe. She has always been strong."

"Indeed." The priest nodded.

"Pardon me, messieurs," Madame Giry poked her head into the room, reverent of the two men inside it. "Monsieur Phantom, I only wanted to inform you that my daughter and I are ready for the ceremony when you are." She smiled, "and so is your bride-to-be."

Erik smiled. "Thank you. We will be there momentarily."

Madame Giry nodded and stepped back out.

"Well," the priest smiled and picked up the Bible next to him,"I see that you have brought my Bible. What are we waiting for?"

Erik smiled and gestured for the priest to lead the way.

The priest stood behind the organ bench, where Erik sat playing his wedding mass. Meg stood to the right of him, wearing her best dress and smiling broadly. Madame Giry walked Christine down the aisle. Christine had donned the bride's dress and veil that her likeness had worn behind the curtain; she looked radiant, with her sparkling eyes, smile and blushing cheeks behind the white veil showing through. She carried a bouquet of roses, provided by Erik, and tied a black ribbon onto it herself. Erik had set up mirrors on the organ so that they could see one another during the march, as they should have. When he finished, he stood across from Christine, holding her hands tenderly.

"Dearly beloved," The priest smiled and began the ceremony.

Raoul rushed through the final corridor and slammed himself into the gate just in time to hear the priest say: "If any one here has any reason why these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Erik raised his hand in the air,

"_Wait,_

_I think, my dear, _

_we have a guest!"_

"I OBJECT!"

All heads turned sharply to the source of the voice, Raoul, who stood desperately against the gate, panting.

"_Raoul!"_ Christine exclaimed, shocked.

Erik grinned,

"_Sir,_

_this is, indeed,_

_an unparalleled delight!_

_I had rather hoped_

_that you would come!_

_And now_

_my wish comes true!_

_You have truly made my night!"_

Raoul began his pathetic, prepared speech,

"_Free her!_

_Do what you like_

_only free her! _

_Have you no pity?"_

"_Your lover makes_

_a passionate plea!"_ Erik said with mock sympathy.

Christine sighed and rubbed her temples, fed up with the Vicomte's persistent attempts at revenge. All she wanted was to marry Erik!

"_Please, Raoul, it's useless!"_

Raoul hoped for sympathy from the priest,

"_I love her!_

_Does that mean nothing? _

_I love her!_

_Show some compassion!"_

"_The world showed no compassion to me!"_ Erik snarled.

"_Christine..._

_Christine..._

_Let me see her!"_

"_Be my guest, sir..."_

Erik stepped to one side and led Christine in front of him, pulling a lever to raise the gate.

"_Monsieur, I bid you welcome._

_Did you think that I would harm her?_

_Why should I make her pay_

_for the sins which are yours!"_

He threw a pun-jab lasso around his enemy's neck and tightened it.

"_Order your fine horses now!_

_Lift up your hand to the level of your eyes!_

_Nothing can save you now,_

_except, perhaps, Christine..."_

All eyes turned to Christine, who shrugged. "Well, my love, what do you feel like doing? I personally believe that the world would benefit much more without him in it."

"So do I–"

"Now just a moment," the priest grabbed the rope from Erik. "Let's try to sort this out rationally first, shall we? Monsieur Le Vicomte, why is it that you object to this marriage?"

"I–" Raoul stopped. What could he say? Revenge? He couldn't tell the truth, but he couldn't lie to the priest! He didn't even _like_ Christine! He was only there to obstruct her marriage to Erik and have his revenge. But he _did_ already say that he loved her...Raoul removed the rope from around his neck, "I, erm..."

"Well, Raoul?" Christine raised her eyebrows impatiently.

"You can't marry him!"

"And why ever not?"

"Because, he's...he's...disfigured!"

"I hardly think that's a valid excuse."

"Neither do I." Erik ground out. "Unless it was an excuse to crush your skull!"

Christine grabbed him by the cloak, stopping him from carrying out his wishes.

"Now, now," the priest grabbed his arm, "I'm not through rationalizing this situation with him yet."

"There _is_ no rationalizing with him!" Erik seethed, "He doesn't understand _anything_! Especially if you use words larger than two syllables!"

"Hey!"

"Wait, wait!" Erik stopped him, "comb your hair first. You know you can't discuss anything with a relatively clear mind unless your hair is in perfect order."

Raoul glared at him, then pulled his comb from his pocket and combed his hair to perfection.

"Now," the priest cleared his throat, "You mentioned that you loved her, but somehow, monsieur, I do not think that you are telling me the truth, and if you are the young lady does not seem to reciprocate your feelings."

"Be that as it may, Father," Raoul took a different angle, "The man is mad!"

"Mad," the priest raised an eyebrow, but his voice was patient, "How so?"

"Well, he..." Raoul stuttered, "he has a model of her that he made, he has drawings of her and...and he plays with _dolls_!"

Erik's face turned red. Christine stifled a laugh, Meg's eyes widened, Madame Giry kept a straight face and the priest hid a smile.

"Well, I do not think that that would be a good reason to prevent this marriage."

"Father, look where you are! We are _underground_! Do you know of _anyone_ in their right mind who lives in an underground lair, with his dolls, stalks an opera house in a mask and cape, claiming to be the owner and a ghost and writing orders under a pen name?"

"Monsieur, your reasons are not convincing me that this marriage would be a bad idea. Miss Daae loves him, and he loves her, which I do not think that you do. And while Monsieur Phantom is a bit...eccentric, I do not believe that he would be harmful to Miss Daae or anyone else, while she is with him."

"Hmph, at least _someone_ is keeping up with the story." Erik muttered.

Raoul opened his mouth, then closed it.

"I find your so called 'reasons' to be invalid and I will continue this wedding as planned."

"No," Raoul squeaked, "Wait, you can't!"

"Father, would you mind if I left for just a moment to erm, _escort_, the young fop out of my lair?"

"Not at all, go ahead. But please leave it at that: _escort_."

Erik grinned and took the fop by the arm, dragging him out of the lair, ignoring his screams. He dragged him up the many flights of stairs, through trap doors, and finally out the back door of the Opera Populaire, throwing him down the steps.

He grinned and brushed himself off, "And _stay_ out!"

Raoul wiped blood from his mouth, "If you gave me a scar, Erik, so help me–"

"What?" Erik whirled around, his cloak swishing through the air; an art Raoul had repeatedly tried and failed to master.

"Well, I'll–" He tried to think of something to say.

Erik stepped towards him, "You will _stay away_, if you know what's good for you. I swear to you now, Vicomte: if you come back, if you _ever_ harass Christine again, I will kill you."

"Hey!"

"I will _kill_ you, fop. Do not test me, for I have shown you mercy long enough."

Then he turned and left, leaving the Vicomte at the bottom of the stairs, with a trembling lip. Two seconds later, Erik poked his head out of the door, "Oh, by the way, monsieur Vicomte, your hair is mussed."

"Gah!"

Erik laughed and shut the door behind him.


	11. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Here, even now on the last chapter, I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any thing pertaining to the published works of it. But let's not weep, this is supposed to be a happy ending! Enjoy!

Epilogue

Christine sat at a small table in her new home underground, listening to Erik's latest masterpiece and sipping a cup of tea while reading her mail that Meg had brought down to the lair that morning. The wedding had gone smoothly after Erik had disposed of their intruder, and the priest had been safely returned to the cathedral after performing the ceremony. The masterpiece Erik was working on was for him, in fact. It was written in latin, and it was breathtaking; a thank you for the beautiful ceremony that Christine was to deliver to him the coming Sunday. Their honeymoon had been spent in the French countryside, in a quaint little cottage Erik had purchased for her. She now haunted the Opera Populaire like her husband did, becoming very clever at disappearing and having a part in most of his plots. Erik continued to write operas for her to star in, so her career did not suffer at all much to her delight. Several newspapers had published articles concerning the opera singer, her mysterious disappearance and subsequent marriage to the mysterious opera ghost. But another account of the event was being told unbeknownst to them in their fair city of Paris...

Raoul took a seat across from a writer by the name of Gaston Leroux, who he had promised to give an exclusive interview to for a book written on the topic of the recent events. Leroux sat, paper and pen in hand, prepared to write down all the Vicomte de Chagny told him for his book.

"Thank you for coming here today, Monsieur Vicomte."

"You are welcome. I only hope," Raoul conjured up some tears, "that I can get through this story without completely losing my composure."

"Take your time." The writer had no idea.

Raoul took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and held out a hand for Leroux to give him a minute, then he sighed.

"Tell me...what he looked like."

Raoul hid a grin, "He had no nose..."

Around a year later, the book was published and Meg, intrigued by the title, bought a copy for Christine and her husband.

"Erik!" she called, looking at the book curiously, "Meg bought us a copy of a new book, it's called The Phantom of the Opera."

Erik walked out of their room and took the book from her curiously. "Shall we read it together?"

Needless to say, when they had finished it Erik was ready to pun jab Raoul; he knew that he was the one responsible for all the lies that had been printed about him.

"Really! The very idea!" He stalked back and forth as Christine read it aloud to him, finishing it in a calm voice and tossing it aside, upset over the inaccuracies she had just read. "I ought to march straight over to his overdone mansion and blot out his pathetic life!"

"Erik..."

"He made himself out to be the hero, and me the villain! Ha! And running down here to rescue you, as if he had the courage. And you! He had the nerve to say that you ran off with him! This is a pure work of fiction, there is very little truth in it except for...my name." He paused, "Alright, my face looks bad, but _no nose_? Now _that_ is a stretch."

Christine walked over to him and kissed him. "Never mind him, my love. Cheaters never prosper. Perhaps people will come to see through his lies and come to love you instead, as I did. Besides, I think he overdid his descriptions of his looks, rank, and so-called courage. He's a fop even in the book. Give the readers some credit; they will see that it is nothing but a masquerade."


End file.
